The fluorescent hum of the HR office pressed in, a dull counterpoint to the quiet thrumming beneath my ribs. I’d walked past this door nearly two thousand times in my tenure here, always heading somewhere else. Now, I was walking out. Across the table, the HR representative, whose name I couldn’t quite recall despite our shared eight-year history within these walls, smiled. A practiced, almost mournful smile. “So,” she began, her voice soft, “is there anything we could have done differently to make you stay?”
I gave the polite, vague answer. The one about new opportunities, about growth, about seeking a different challenge. The kind of answer that’s a carefully constructed facade, built not to deceive, but to protect. Protect myself from the futility of it all, and protect her from the harsh, unvarnished truth that would only land in a forgotten folder, gathering digital dust. Why would I, after months, even years, of feeling unheard, of seeing genuine concerns about workflow, about morale, about utterly broken internal communication channels, finally pour out my soul now? At the exit door? It felt like being asked for an honest review of a meal after you’ve already paid the bill, walked out of the restaurant, and are standing in the street, wondering if your fly was open all morning without anyone telling you. A realization that arrives too late, offering only mild embarrassment, no opportunity for correction.
A Courier’s Unheard Voice
Consider Iris L.M., a medical equipment courier I once knew. She spent eight years on the road, navigating rush hour and hospital docks, delivering life-saving devices. Her insights into logistics, equipment maintenance, and even patient-facing interactions were invaluable. She knew which hospitals consistently had faulty loading bays, which routes were perpetual bottlenecks, and which clinics needed an extra eight minutes for setup. Yet, when she brought these observations up during her quarterly reviews, they were met with polite nods, filed away, and never acted upon.
When she finally gave her two weeks’ notice, exhausted and frustrated, her exit interview was, predictably, a rote exercise. They asked about her reasons for leaving, her suggestions for improvement. She spoke, passionately, about the eight specific improvements she’d championed for years. The HR rep diligently typed, nodding along. Eight months later, I heard from a mutual contact that the same loading bay issue Iris had highlighted was still causing delays, still creating safety hazards for the new couriers.
This isn’t about blaming individuals in HR; they’re often operating within the confines of a system that prioritizes optics over action. It’s about the fundamental design flaw.
The Right Time for Candor
The best time to ask “What could we do differently?” isn’t when an employee has one foot out the door, it’s during their 8th week, their 8th month, or their 8th year. It’s in the quiet, consistent conversations, in the proactive surveys, in the genuine psychological safety that allows feedback to be given without fear of reprisal or, worse, indifference.
The true value of feedback, like that collected by companies truly committed to their users, such as Epic Comfort for their customer service, lies not in its collection, but in its utilization.
Shifting the Focus
What would happen if organizations shifted their focus? If they invested $878 into robust, real-time feedback mechanisms throughout an employee’s journey, rather than relying on a last-ditch effort? Imagine a culture where leaders are coached not just on delivering feedback, but on receiving it, on actively seeking out dissenting opinions, on creating pathways for anonymous, yet actionable, suggestions.
$878
Robust Feedback Investment
A culture where vulnerability isn’t seen as a weakness, but as a prerequisite for growth. A place where acknowledging mistakes, both personal and systemic, is standard operating procedure, not a career-limiting move. We often criticize those who leave, sometimes even label them as disloyal, yet we build systems that practically guarantee their silence until it’s too late to make a difference.
The Microcosm of Oversight
I’ve been on both sides of that table. I’ve been the one politely deflecting, and I’ve been the one listening, diligently typing, knowing deep down that the insights, no matter how profound, would likely dissipate into the ether. And isn’t that the real tragedy? The waste of genuine human insight, the squandering of institutional memory, all sacrificed on the altar of a bureaucratic ritual.
What if, instead of asking departing employees why they’re leaving, we spent our energy understanding why people stay? Why do some thrive despite the challenges, despite the empty rituals? What keeps their fire burning for 8, 18, or even 28 years? That’s where the true learning lies, not in the polite goodbyes, but in the vibrant, messy, ongoing commitment.
The Roaring Dialogue
The exit interview, as it stands, is merely the final whisper of a conversation that should have been a roaring dialogue all along. A poignant reminder that true organizational health isn’t measured at the departure gate, but in the living, breathing, continuously evolving culture experienced every single day.
